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Thursday, June 30, 2016

Oh, November, thought White Rose, the
most wretched month. No dawn, no dusk, no
proper time of day... That was a poem about November her old Irish nanny
used to rhyme to her before bed. Strange that she should remember it now.

Naked, White
Rose carefully lay down on the cold plastic tanning bed, with her earphones
blaring Britney Spears 'Toxic' and a pair of tiny sun goggles balanced on her
nose. She hit the 'ON' button and the lamps sprang to fluorescent life.
Her chilled body covered in goose bumps began to warm up and relax.

'...your toxic tongue slippin' under...

From
a distance the squealing headphones sounded like a Bollywood film.

Honestly,
what would she do without the tanning bed? The heat from the lamps began to work
its magic and immediately White Rose felt her spirits lighten. Her skin, never
without a golden glow, began to pink under the carcinogenic light.

No
sun - no moon!

No
morn - no noon -

Yes,
the poem was definitely on her mind. But it was understandable. If late summer
was the most beautiful time of year on this campus then November was definitely
the ugliest. It was bitterly cold but not snowing, the trees were bare and the
leaves were gone from the relentlessly whistling wind that tangled her hair.
The sky was always grey.

White
Rose peered down at her body, her large fake breasts standing at attention on
her chest. She remembered begging Mother for breast augmentation for her
18th birthday, but the old battle ax refused, citing her rhinoplasty, her Lasik
surgery and the cost of her upcoming tuition as financial reasons. That was
utter bullshit! Her father could definitely afford it. With his taste for
whiskey and whores he had no right to judge. It was torture being the only one who
was flat-chested at her private boarding school. These were her peers and they
looked up to her. What her mother didn't understand was that her reputation was
at stake, it was no longer a simple exercise in vanity.

White
Rose, who by all accounts was a very resourceful person, had figured out an
alternative source of revenue and applied for a student loan under an assumed
name. No way would they have approve her if she had used her real name.

Anyway,
it worked! She had booked an appointment as soon as she had moved on campus in
her freshman year. It would be a least 6 weeks before she would see her parents
again, even more if she was really deceptive, or rather resourceful in her reasons to stay away. Having no one to be there
before and after the surgery had been a gut check for sure. At the last minute,
after she couldn't argue or hiss or fight with the nurse anymore, she had
eventually capitulated and called Audra to come and get her from the plastic
surgeon's office. Audra had been a first year student like herself assigned to
the dorm across the hall and had quickly become White Rose's first friend.
Audra in her typical dry way and taken one look at the situation and sized up
correctly that White Rose was probably hating life, being in a moment of need.
She had taken upon herself and driven to the pharmacy for a series of cold
packs, hot packs and pain medication, then to their dorm and put White Rose to
bed. The pain had been literally excruciating for three days. In a moment of
weakness, White Rose had gasped to Audra, "Do they look really fake?"
Without missing a beat, Audra had responded "They're real once they're in,
m' dear". In the tanning bed, White Rose smiled now at the memory.

But
the pain had been worth it because it had landed her the biggest prize of all,
Micah Ballantree. The uptown old money scion of the Ballantree fortune and
foundation. After rushing her sorority, the best on campus, with the full
intention of one day becoming its illustrious president she had cornered Micah
outside a bathroom at one of his frat's wild keggers. He was pretty drunk which
made it easy to convince him to lie down in his room. She was careful to give
him a taste but not too much all at once, whetting his desire for her. Mostly
she just talked, telling him every little thing he wanted to hear. Young men
were so easy to manipulate. Her father had taught her that.

Micah
had probably had sex all of four times by the time she met him. His family no
doubt had kept him on a very tight leash. He had woken up with just a vision of
her, and no one knew her name or claimed to have seen her. It drove him crazy.
That kind of thing drove all men
crazy, White Rose mused, and she worked it completely to her advantage. It was
several weeks before he saw her again and this time it him pursuing her. Perfect for how she wanted to be
seen among her sisters. And especially Audra. It was strange; as a woman she
liked and respected Audra, she even trusted her, but nothing could stop her
from hating her and wanting everything Audra had - everything every woman had -
for her own. Except Sherrise. Sherrise was so different; so strong where others
were weak and so smart where others were stupid. She loved talking to Sherrise
because she felt so calm when she did. Even thinking about her made White Rose
blush a little.

Slowly
the air temperature around White Rose changed. The air that was warming up so
nicely was beginning to cool. Had some fucking asshole left the outer door
open? The place was cheaply constructed and the walls of each room containing
one tanning bed did not go all the way up to the ceiling. Never one to hide her
annoyance or miss an opportunity for vulgarity she plucked out her earphone and
screamed "Shut the door assholes, I'm practically naked here." There!
That should get their attention. That always
got their attention.

The
tanning bed hummed and Britney squealed through the rest of her song. The next track
started up, something about being lonely despite huge fame and fortune. Figures the dumb southern belle wouldn't
know a good thing when she saw it, thought White Rose, she isn't so much a dancer as a gymnast who can lip-sync. But that
didn't stop wealthy Japanese businessmen from propositioning her. White Rose
marvelled at the power of fame, it made people see what they wanted to see.
Fame was really just an act. Anyone could do it.

The
air was still chilly and it was seriously annoying. White Rose felt her
frustration level rise and, of course, her rage kicked in shortly thereafter;
one followed the next like night and day. Still stark naked, she kicked the
clamshell of the tanning bed open with her long legs and opened the door to
scream obscenities at whomever was out there. Her tiny goggles clattered to the
floor as she was met with an icy blast of winter wind coming in from the outer
door. It was practically off its hinges. Instinctively, she made a move to
cover her breasts and crotch with both her arms to protect her from the teeth
of the gale.

"What
the fuck-", whispered White Rose. Was there a tornado? In November? She
was momentarily taken aback and speechless, which was so rare. Despite the
wind, there was no movement. The person at the front desk appeared to be
absent. The calypso music they usually played over the speakers was silent.

White
Rose heard a noise behind her, it was coming from the spa at the end of the
hall. This tanning salon boasted a small but beautifully appointed Jacuzzi and
shower as well as a massage table. For
the all the underclassmen that want a rub and tugbetween classes, White Rose thought unkindly. Still naked and very
cold, but inflamed by her desire rage against someone anyone, she march down the icy hall and into the spa.

The
air was considerably warmer in here. White Rose scanned the room with her eyes.
The counters were clad in fake marble and the ceiling sported subdued pot lights.
The whole ambience was a study in post-modern airport lounge. Even so, it was
very relaxing in here. White Rose felt her pulse slow and she exhaled slowly as
her Pilates instructor had taught her. Feeling more herself, she began:

"Hey,
asshole, your fucking door is broken"

Silence.

"If
you are busy shitting, you need to pinch it off!"

Still
more silence.

This
was stupid. Better to get her clothes and get out of her. Heaven forbid these
jerks try to blame her for the damage. White Rose turned to go and came face to
face with a beautiful brunette, with long shining hair. Who was also naked.

The
woman was shorter than White Rose, and older, she noticed with disdain but
everything about her was luminous and warm.
There was a heat emanating off her tight little body unlike anything she had
felt before. The woman took her wrist and delicately held it to her nose,
inhaling deeply. White Rose was almost hypnotized by the sight and did not
resist. In fact, she felt calmer than she had in years. This woman reminded her
of something... something from her childhood?

White
Rose was struck from her reverie by a sudden and urgent dripping sound. The
woman had thrust a nail into her wrist and blood was dripping on the floor. But
there was no pain. White Rose was magnetized by the sight of such rich redness
spilling and dripping and oozing in every direction on the floor.

"Beautiful,
is it not?"

White
Rose snapped her head to the woman but her lips had not moved. In fact, her
face was no longer beautiful but menacing, there was a flashing hunger in her
eyes that White Rose recognized. It was a feeling she was very familiar with:
rage. No, jealousy. Actually a combination of both.

It
sparked a flurry of thoughts and images flooded her consciousness. All the
years and all the people and all the conversations she had ever had in her
young life. Twenty one years of acting lessons and the best shampoo and this is
all she had to show for it. A few fake friends and a faithless boyfriend. From
her perspective now, everything she had ever cared about was useless. She
gasped as her lungs fought for breathe, her blood pressure dropping fatally,
but it was more a gasp of realization that she had wasted so many precious
resources on such selfish pursuits. Then she was sad. Utterly, dismally sad
that no actual part of herself had ever been cultivated in all her years and
with all her education. The sadness seemed to start in the her heart but then
it flung itself down her arm, making it numb. She was mildly aware that her
heart was gasping for oxygen, pumping irregularly in her delicate rib cage,
beneath her gorgeous fake breasts. She was devastated to know that she was
going to die never really knowing herself. It broke her heart and she felt dull
ache echo through the right side of her chest and down her arm making the
fingers in her right hand tingle.

The
last thing White Rose thought about, as the blood draining from her brain
released seemingly unrelated synaptic connections, was her father. White Rose
flashed on her earliest memory: Her father swinging her in his arms as she
walked along the sidewalk, one two three wheeee onetwothreewheeee

The
thing that was Dr. Elzbeta Nadasdy watched as the girl began to swoon and
caught her as she began to fall. She dropped her body into the empty jacuzzi
and began to massage the girls arm under warm water, filling the tub with a
crimson fluid. The blood flowed faster in this way and underneath the fake
glow, White Rose took on a grotesque pallor. Then Elzbeta slipped into the tub
next to the girl and sank down, willing her hungry body to absorb the blood
directly into her pores. For a moment she was relaxed and all was still. White
Rose sighed her last and slipped beneath the water.

But something was wrong.

Elzbeta
dropped her head beneath the water and lifted it out again, hissing with pain
and frustration. She was coated in bloody water, making her hair hard and it
was steaming on her skin, burning and wrinkling it, but it wasn't because it
was hot. She knew what the problem was. Moving quickly with superhuman strength
she lifted White Rose up and out of the water dropped her lifeless body on the
tiled floor. As her head hid the hard marble it made a vile sound of overripe
fruit hitting the ground, and a lesser sound, one that only animals could hear,
was the ring of a necklace striking the ceramic. Not just any necklace, it was
a gold crucifix purchased for White Rose by a loving relative on a trip to Italy
when she was a girl. It had the added benefit of being actually blessed in the
presence of the Pope. But Elzbeta heard it.

"Go
to hell" she hissed again and the cross moved away from the sound of her
voice, straining the filigreed chain of the necklace; it shook but did not
break.

Having
effectively created holy water, the bath was useless to Elzbeta. She sat
placidly on the edge of the jacuzzi like a renaissance painting of a woman at
her toilet. She should know since she had posed for more than one portrait in
her life, but her mind racing was ferociously. Finally, she simply roared in
frustration like a wounded lion.

Friday, June 24, 2016

Audra
could hear Belinda giggling as she approached the Rare Book Library. Honestly,
did those two ever stop? It was like formula for a young adult novel with them.
Audra was terrified at any moment that Edward was going to jump on the nearest
sofa and declare that he had carved Belinda's name into his chest. Belinda
seemed to be more level-headed, though, and would probably take that all in
stride. Plus she was outrageously wealthy and could probably have Edward
"disappeared" if it all got to be too much.

Maybe
Audra was jaded, or just simply jealous. After all, the most "love"
she received tonight was when Micah rang her landline as she was walking out
the door to the library. She had ignored it though. She was trying to put an
end to obvious booty calls from Micah. She was trying to quit him altogether
and for the most part it was working, as long as she stayed busy. Very very busy.

Apropos
of nothing, Audra's little "sister" Song Le had advised her sometime
ago that the best way to get over a
man was to get under a new one, which
- coming from such a conservative woman - was equal parts horrifying and
hilarious. But the saying did have some truth to it. Audra would have to keep
her radar out for an equally jaded man who could ease her aching spirit...

"Hiya
Audra! What took you so long?" Edward broke his gaze from Belinda as Audra
hefted the unbelievably heavy oak door aside and bounced up to help her.
"Anyway, take my chair, I need to sharpen my pencil."

Sharpen..?

"Is
that some sort of clever euphemism?" wondered Audra.

"No,"
laughed Belinda,"he really is just using pencils. He thinks it's more
authentic than pens or something. Everybody searches for their college
experience in their own way, I guess."

"Ain't
that the truth" muttered Audra, it was her night for one-liners obviously.
"So, what have you uncovered so far, Victorian detectives?"

"Well,
as you know, our assignment was to research the solitary nature of the English
gentlemen of the 1820s; his work ethic, his opportunities for marriage as a
function of his becoming gainfully employed. It was different than today. Women
made prudent choices based on class expectations and financial forecasting. For
men, it was a sincere achievement to convince a woman to marry him based on his
merits as a provider. It was far more realistic and a greater indicator of
success than today's love matches.

"Hmmm,"
said Audra. Her mind was on Micah. Faced with purely economic conditioning,
would she choose him? The answer was yes, unequivably yes, entirely due to his
wealth and privilege. For some reason that made her stomach turn. It was hot to
have an affair with someone who was hot, redundant phrasing aside, but to be
tied to him forever was a different story...it was his infidelity that made her
judge him harshly and see him as weak. His privilege made him slightly less
capable in her eyes. What a little hypocrite she was! Obviously, it would be
different if she were starving, opium-addicted waif...

..."and
how much time men spent apart from
women. There was no real co-mingling, or 'cross-pollination' of the sexes. The
risk of losing what was available in the hopes that something better might eventually come along forced an
entirely different set of decision-making skills."

I
can relate, thought Audra.

But
she didn't think it for long because at that moment Edward came flying down the
corridor and slammed a book down on the table. Dust flew up causing everyone to
cough and sputter. Edward was lit from within but still maintained his sage
exterior.

"Hey!
Look what I found!" said, brandishing his pencil and turn a page of the
heavy thick book. The first few pages where a soft moss green, it took a minute
to realize, it was actually a delicate type of mold.

"Oh!
It's rotting!" exclaimed Belinda.

"That's
right," nodded Edward, ever the scholar. "It's vellum, or sheep skin,
and it has not been
well-preserved."

"What
the hell are you touching it for, then?" asked Audra. They were absolutely
going to get in trouble for this. "And where did you get it?"

"I
...found it. There are cabinets back there. Some are unlocked." Edward
squirmed under the scrutiny. He was lying. He had picked the lock. It was a
problem he had, fairly compulsive. But he was keeping a lid on it. That and the
fires...he hadn't started one in ages. "But actually check it out because
it's not in English, it's in Latin. Or rather, it's an old English translation
of a Latin court record. A Vatican
court record."

"What?"
both girls in unison.

Edward,
speaking in his most professorial tone and foreshadowing the great scholar he
would eventually become, began: "Follow
me, folks, this isn't hard. It's a book, a 'modern' translation -for the
time- of a much older tribunal held in...," Edward squinted and peered
flipping the first few pages back and forth, creating cracks in the dry
binding. "...what is now Hungary
by three priests ...and overseen by a cardinal. It's a court case, see? Here it
has the allegations made by the prosecuting priests and responses from the
accused and evidence from various witnesses, mostly peasant folk."

"How
are you reading this?" Audra wondered aloud.

"Um
well, I've just been practicing." No, that wasn't true. Edward had been
here before. He had actually been in every building and every room in the
entire campus. When his insomnia kept him up at night, he found it relaxing to
explore his environment. The various keys and lock picking equipment he had
accumulated over the years came in helpful but he didn't always need it. People
had a way of not seeing him. And he had a way of using that to his advantage.
Specifically in the Rare Book Library, he had been through all these books
before. This was just the most interesting one and the one he most wanted to
show (and show off!) to Belinda. He loved sharing stuff with her. He felt so
smart around her. They were so different and they had so much to teach each
other.

"But
that's not the best part-"

"What's
the best part?” Audra asked dryly. Edward ignored that and Belinda smiled at
him.

"The
best part is that they seem to be talking about possession... by the devil...
and an exorcism..."

"...Or rather, what to do when
the exorcism doesn't work."

The
room seemed to still around them. This was fairly off-putting. Audra felt a
small chill go up her spine and began to wonder about her walk home. Maybe she
should ask Belinda and Edward to walk with her... it was dumb to take risks on
campus.

The
question hung in the air.

Finally:
"What do you do when the exorcism doesn't work", Belinda whispered
flatly, not a question.

"It
seems the accused was a ...let me see... a woman. No surprise there, heh."

Silence
from Audra. Rolled eyes from Belinda. Edward could be annoying.

"Ahem,
yes, ...'found to be possessed but various attempts at ridding her of the demon
were wholly unsuccessful', so...

"So?"
Audra now. Both these girls were hanging off his every word and he was
seriously enjoying it. Edward was flipping through pages quite quickly now.
There were vast tracts of biblical passages that had been inscribed in colour
plates, not faded with age. Vibrant greens and golds, iridescent blues seemed
to jump from the page even in the low light of the Rare Book Library. There
were images of various rituals, priests holding talismans to the foreheads of
the masses, doves and angels framing the corners of the pages, shapes of the
cross with crucified bodies upon them - no, impaled bodies on single trunks of
wood, completely gruesome - there were even pencil marks in the margins, proof
that someone had been here before.

"She
was bricked up in the tower of her castle and passed food through a small
hole" Edward said finally.

"The tower of her castle. She must have
been rich, nobility?"

"Yes,
it would seem so." Edward, the wise man.

"So,
to recap," Belinda said. "The Vatican in Rome thought enough of this
situation to send three priests and a cardinal to a small backwater in Hungary
on the word of some peasant folk that a woman - a castle-dwelling noble woman -
was possessed by the Devil and all the conventional methods of devil-removing
were not effective. And their solution was to brick her up in the Hungarian
equivalent of the Tower
of London. I can see why
the Victorian gentleman would enjoy this book." They all laughed.

"But
no, that is not what it says. The English translator makes it clear that is not
what the Hungarian word really means, at least not colloquially among these peasant
folk. Apparently these Hungarian farmers were fairly coherent Third-Wave
feminists because, while they did have a word for virgin, that is not the word
they are using. They had another word for a young woman. A word meaning she had
never had an orgasm. In their culture, fertility was a function of whether or
not a man could give his woman an orgasm. No orgasm, no babies, at least as far
a local folk knowledge goes. The Hungarians weren't accusing her of killing
virgins, as in women who had never had sex as some of these victims were very
married women, it means the woman had never
had an orgasm. And the accused could somehow smell it. These were the women
she killed. These were the maidens whom she bathed in their blood!"

Friday, June 17, 2016

The subway came to Toronto in 1949. We call it the TTC; not the
Metro, and not the underground. If you are exclusively riding the streetcar you
can call it The Rocket. If you are coming home from the bar then it's called the
Vomit Comet. If you are going somewhere you say, "I'll take the TTC".
If you someone asks how you are getting home you say "subwayyyy" in a
tortured voice. If someone asks if they can your use TTC pass, you say yes
(because it's transferable). If that same someone asks why you didn't answer
their texts, you say it's because you were on the subway.

When the train pulls into the station it is essential that you
don't stand directly in front of the doors. We will call this, for ease of
reference,Rule#1.
Standing directly in front of the subway doors prevents those who want to exit
- who are currently occupying the space you want to occupy - and confounds the
process entirely. It's simple psychology. Animals that can not see a way out won't move. Remember that hamster you lost up your butt? Same concept. It's also simple physics. A metal container full of humanity must
first be emptied before it can be re-filled with fresh bodies. It can't - and
never does - work the opposite way. You can't jam yourself into a loaded coach
and then expect people to filter past you. This
isn't a coffee machine.

The correct method of loading on a subway car is lining up at the
edge of the doorway - parallel to the car itself!- and entering once everyone
has gotten off. When in doubt, repeat the following mantra: "It is logical
to let them off".

Congratulations! You have now successfully boarded a subway car!
You are now trapped in a metal cylinder with strangers, speeding through time and space in the dark. You are an astronaut! But give yourself a minute. Because the only thing worse than
what I just described is if you are all of those things and elderly /pregnant /
you get the idea. Rule#2 is: Look around before you grab that seat.

Use your PRESTO card, asshole.

Hey White Men who are gainfully employed in jobs where they can
sit all day! I'm talking to you! You always grab the seat because you are the
fucking fastest not because you fucking deserve it. You never ask if someone
else wants it. Never.

Hey young men with your legs spread wide like you have
elephantiasis of the scrotum! I'm talking to you! I get that it's a
subconscious offer of sexual congress in my direction. I'm vaguely flattered.
Now shut it down and close your legs. Because the woman with all those shopping
bags needs a seat.

Super Misogyny: It's cool that her time and purpose is less valuable than the men who work. Who the fuck do you think she is "shopping" for, anyway? A family! Because if she was single, she would be working too.

Hey pretty ladies with your gigantic purses staring at your image
in the reflective glass! I'm talking to you! Put it on the ground when the carriage is packed. No exceptions. If the purse is too expensive for that, then make better
life choices going forward.

Hey teenagers and workmen with your gigantic backpacks! I'm talking to you! What the actual fuck do you have in there, anyway? The Ministry of Health warns against children carrying that kind of load on their shoulders and grown men should know better. Everyday I watch one of you literally knock over a little old lady - one who was standing because no one offered her a seat - and then mumble a half-hearted apology as you blunder away under your enormous burden like some ancient turtle. Old people are fragile.

Rule #3 corresponds to the correct way to de-train: Look before you leap (off). As the doors close on your second-to-last stop, begin to gently get up and move toward the doors. You have a whole two minutes to complete this task and it will be enough. Pack up your book and begin to stand slowly. This will indicate to those around you that you mean business. Make eye contact to convey your intent. Ensure you are gripping the handrails so you don't go flying when the train careens to a stop. Straighten you clothes BUT REFRAIN FROM DONNING YOUR GIGANTIC BACKPACK. It's still way too early for that shit.

Now that you are pointed in the right direction, exit peacefully onto the subway platform. Remember how we talked about not blocking the doorways of the subway car? Take a moment to notice the fools who are doing that very thing right now. Annoying, right? Don't be like them.

Don't push past people in a rush at the last minute.

Don't become irate because people are moving more slowly than you would like.

Don't breathe down their necks and wriggle like a salmon trying to swim upstream. No one wants you to spawn right now.

Me, reading on the subway.

You are almost at your destination! Just one thing left to do and that is, properly ride the escalator to the surface. Riding the escalator is tough because it's basically stairs that move and I can see how that would be confusing. Theoretically, you just get on it and stand still. That is what it was designed for. After all, one "rides" the escalator, one does not "walk" the escalator. It wasn't designed to help people who could easily use the stairs get to their destination faster. It was designed for the slow people, the people with a lot of bags, or a lot of children or a lot of age, or a lot of weight, or a lot of all of the above. If you are so interested in racing up the stairs, use the ACTUAL stairs, Big Guy, and show us all how it's done! Feel free to show off and hoot a bunch so we know who you are.It is important to remember when using the escalator that, while "walk left, stand right" is a commonly understood rule of decency, it is not - as some able-bodied assholes would have you believe - a federally mandated municipal bylaw enforced by police and punishable by up to 6 months in prison. The person who is causing the hold up on the escalator is exactly the right person to be using the escalator. YOU are the interloper. So Rule#4 is: "Walk left, stand right - unless that does not suit the situation and then use common decency". People can't make their bodies smaller so you can squeeze by, touching them in an uncalled for manner BTW, and thereby decreasing your commute by a 10th of a second.Let's recap:Rule #1: It's logical to let them off. Stand parallel to the carriage.Rule #2: Look around before you grab that seat.Rule #3: Look before you leap (off).

Rule #4: Walk left, stand right - unless that does not suit the situation and then use common decency.

This raccoon is offering others his seat because he is Canadian.

You are all set to ride the subway in Toronto. Oh, and don't forget to bring your wallet because it will cost about $10,000 USD per trip. Good Luck and Enjoy our fair city!

Monday, June 6, 2016

Belinda
and Edward sat huddled together in the dark recesses of the Rare Book Library,
illuminated by weak sconces made to mimic the effect of candlelight in order to
protect the delicate pages of the old books. The room they were in was sealed
off from the general library by a series of heavy oak doors, and coupled with
the thick carpet created a silent womb, or tomb, depending how maudlin one was
feeling. The books that Belinda and Edward had open on the long library tables
could only be visited at night under the supervision of the librarian in order
to keep their exposure to ambient light down to a minimum. To confound matters,
most were handwritten in difficult to read script and spelling that was reminiscent
of a 4th grader.

Belinda
and Edward were snuggled side by side in a pair of very comfortable chairs,
Edward curled around Belinda like he always somehow found a way to be. Belinda
giggled as he moved a strand of strawberry blond hair behind her ear.

"You are a love addict, Eddy.
Did you know that?"

This gave Edward pause for a
moment. "It's true." he nodded sagely. "I am exhibiting signs of
serious addiction for you and it's probably unhealthy. We are always together.
I feel like I need to protect from everything, anything, the dumbest things.
And I've forced you to become dependent on me because I do everything for you.
It's almost like I'm a vampire and you are my blood source."

Belinda giggled again, but
responded. "What should we do about it?"

"We should break up. Or
immediately get married."

"You are right, Eddy. Those
two equally dramatic events are the only natural responses that well-educated,
emotionally balanced people can come up with. And by "break up", you
mean where you leave me for weak reasons and I collapse utterly, have a
bonafide nervous breakdown and never leave my bed for three months. And by get
married, you mean we should have a small but tasteful ceremony against our parents’
wishes that interferes with our educations and future earning potential causing
us to eventually resent each other and ultimately break up, where the
above-mentioned collapse happens anyway. A third option, acknowledging that we
are in too deep and taking a break from each other while still remaining
friends, is just too..."

"Boring?" asked Edward.

"Yes, I was going to say boring,
but also ... banal", she mused. "I mean, what would we talk about to
others, if not each other and how we feel about each other. By slowing down the
pace of our romantic fervour we would lose status in the eyes of our peers who kinda expect us to be over-the-top.
There really is nowhere else for us to go at this point. Our love has trapped
us in a pre-manufactured story that only leads to tragic oblivion."

"Unless one of us is very
wealthy, or has a superpower, or both! Then we could move into a ruin of a Scottish
castle and become happy heroin addicts that never get out of bed all day in a
swoon of love and drugs," Edward was beginning to take notes. "We
could even get our own reality show".

"It's a good thing I am outrageously wealthy," said
Belinda.

"And it's a good thing that
we've both decided to wait until marriage to have any physical contact,"
said Edward. "Or we really would be in too deep."

They were both silent for a moment.

Looking into her eyes, longingly,
Edward said: I really love you Belinda.

Belinda giggled again: I know you
do, Eddy. I love you too.

Because Belinda and Eddy knew,
unlike many of their peers, that "I love you" is always a question.